


Mess is Mine

by QuickLikeLight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Vocabulary, BDSM, Dom Scott McCall, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Gentle Dom Scott, Honestly blame Taylor, Knotting, M/M, POV Scott McCall, Scott-Centric, Sex Toys, Sub Stiles, Switch Scott, Switch Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7321450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/pseuds/QuickLikeLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn’t happen all that often, but when it does, it always starts the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mess is Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taylorpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorpotato/gifts).



> I've never seen knotting fic written from the POV of the person doing the knotting, so I thought I'd try it out with Scott. In this fic Scott and Stiles are both 18, in an established relationship, and switch. Most of the time Stiles is the dominant partner, but occasionally he isn't, and this is one of those instances. Originally this was written because Dan said something about wanting fic where "festooned with come" was a thing. That was over a year ago though. The only reason this fic came to fruition was Taylor's influence, so this is dedicated to him. The title is, of course, from Vance Joy's "Mess is Mine."
> 
> There are minor references to breath play as well as spanking, orgasm denial, and everything that goes along with knotting in this fic. If you're uncomfortable with any of these themes I ask that you please turn back now. For everyone else, please know that this is unbeta'd but not unedited, and if I've messed up somewhere, feel free to let me know either in the comments or my askbox. Thank you.

It doesn’t happen all that often, but when it does, it always starts the same way.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Scott growls, trying to will Stiles to run faster. Coach blows his whistle from the sidelines.

“Pick it up Krasinski, or I’ll make you run another!”

“That seems - highly - ineffective,” Stiles huffs, jogging along at a sedate pace. A slow pace. A fucking _turtle’s_ pace. “If I’m this - slow - doing three - don’t you think -”

“Don’t hurt yourself kid,” Coach mutters, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, you’re done, all of ya. Hit the showers. I’m tired of your faces.”

“What was that, man?” Scott butts his shoulder against Stiles’ as gently as he can. He still sends the human flailing, just a bit - he thinks Stiles is probably exaggerating that though.

“Whatever could you mean, Scotty?” Stiles looks up at him from under his lashes as he packs up his backpack on the sidelines, eyes twinkling.

“You were doing that on purpose.” Scott isn’t sure why he’s surprised, really. Of course.

“Running’s for mortal peril, lacrosse when my dad’s watching, or keeping Kira out of my curly fries. Running is not for _practice_.”

Scott squints at him. He can tell the face is a little judgemental, but honestly - he doesn’t mean to be, he just can’t help it with Stiles sometimes. “Running is _absolutely_ for practice. You have to practice to get better at it. Like basically _all_ activities.”

“I have better things to do with my time,” Stiles winks, dragging his tongue obscenely over his lips as he stands up in far too fluid a movement. Scott stiffens immediately, trying not to think about the abrupt redirection of blood to his cock.

“Stop it,” he begs, shaking his head. “We’re in public. It’s cruel.”

“Aw, c’mon _Alpha_ ,” Stiles grins, rubbing his face against Scott’s shoulder. “I was a naughty boy today. Aren’t you going to pin me down? Show me who’s boss?”

Scott shudders, aroused and embarrassed about it all at the same time. His eyes bleed red despite his best efforts at control. “Are you asking me for something?”

Stiles flushes pink immediately, eyes downcast and hand sliding to cover his nape as he pulls back. “Ah, well… I mean -”

“Then go shower,” Scott interrupts, pushing him fondly toward the locker room. “You smell.”

He doesn’t mention that he’s going to have to take a cold one this time, but Stiles probably already knows.

 

Two days later, Scott finds him needle-sharp and pointed at Isaac.

“I think today’s scarf ups your douchemeter to a seven. That’s a full half point higher than yesterday, man!” Stiles bites before shoving half a dinner roll in his mouth. The little diner they frequent is mostly empty, picnic-patterned cloths covering all the tables, chairs pushed in neat and tidy. Stiles is sprawled across two himself, ass in one and one leg hanging over the other, as Isaac chews haltingly across from him.

“Hey, Isaac,” Scott says easily, dropping into the chair next to his beta. He doesn’t even look at Stiles, aware of him gaping and puffing up on the other side of the table but ignoring it completely. “You had that physics test today, right? How was it?”

Stiles sputters, slapping his hand too loudly on the table. “Oh, hey there Scott! Super nice to see you too! How’s it going, best friend in the world who is also, oh _hello_ , my _boyfriend_? Oh I’m fine, don’t worry about -”

“Isaac,” Scott interrupts pointedly. “How was your physics test today?”

“Uh…” Isaac looks uncomfortable, glancing between Scott and Stiles with a furrowed brow before continuing, “...hard? I studied though. I think I made a B.”

“Hey man, a B is great!” Scott claps him soundly on the shoulder, squeezes it just a bit.

“...Maybe a B minus, actually,” Isaac says, half-breathless. He grimaces at himself, and Scott rubs soothingly at his collarbone with his fingertips.  
            “You studied. I know you went to bed earlier than usual, because you stopped answering my texts around eleven. Sorry about that, by the way,” Scott frowns, but Isaac shakes his head, brightening back up.

“No, no, it was fine. I had it on silent. It was... nice to see your messages when I woke up…” He trails off, shooting a glance in Stiles’ direction.

“You did your best. Whatever grade you get, I’m proud of you,” Scott nods, squeezing just at the juncture of his shoulder and neck one more time. Isaac slumps with relief before he catches himself, straightens up again and shakes Scott off.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks man,” Isaac shrugs. Scott turns back toward the table, looks at Stiles across it with his eyebrows high.

“Hey Stiles. How’s it going?”

“Oh, are we talking again now?” Stiles shoots back, quick and bitter.

“I’m sorry. I really wanted to know how Isaac felt about that test. What do you need?” Scott keeps his voice level, easy, but the instant Stiles recognizes the challenge he sinks back into his chair, shrugs his shoulders.

“Nothing man, I just, ya know…” he heaves a sigh, flicking a curly fry in Isaac’s direction. “The stripes are douchey.”

“I like the stripes,” Scott says, blinding grin plastered on. Stiles’ face scrunches up in a sneer.

“Of course you like stripes.”

Dinner is snarky and loud, but before the end of it Stiles’ foot rests in his lap and he links their fingers on the way out.

“You seemed a bit antsy at dinner,” Scott says, prodding, as they lean against the Jeep. Isaac’s long gone, and they’re the only ones in the parking lot this late in the evening.

“Yeah, well, I get that way when you decide _beta_ is more important than _boyfriend_ ,” Stiles grumps, dipping to rub the side of his face against Scott’s, a weird scenting gesture that Scott’s honestly not sure where he picked up. He still enjoys it.

“Never _more_ important,” Scott argues, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulling him in. “You were being mean, though. I didn’t want him to think we didn’t want him there.”

“We didn’t want him there, though,” Stiles laughs, and Scott swats him briskly on the ass.

“See? Mean.”

“Maybe I’m just frustrated,” Stiles whispers, voice taking on that low, husky quality it gets when he’s near the edge, but not near enough. “Maybe I just need a little something extra to keep me nice.”

“What’s that?” Scott teases, pressing kisses to Stiles’ neck just to make him squirm.

“Hmmm… it’s just, I think, maybe I smell too much like other people now. Maybe you need to make me smell like you again.” Stiles nips at his ear, sending Scott’s brain abruptly to his dick.

“You need to always smell like me,” Scott finds himself agreeing easily, rubbing his hips against Stiles’ in slow, torturous rolls. If he works hard enough, he could probably make Stiles come in his jeans. He's done it before, it really only takes commitment and the right angle -

“I really think I ought to be covered in you at all times,” Stiles adds, voice too light and airy over the desire rolling off of him. “Dripping with your scent. _Festooned_ with come, even.”

Scott freezes.

“You’re just trying to get your word of the day in, aren’t you?” he sighs. His head thumps back against the Jeep as Stiles tries to stifle a laugh into his elbow.

“C’mon, Scotty! I didn’t - ahhh,” Stiles shakes his head. “I really do think we should -”

“Nope.” Scott shakes his head. “You can talk to me tomorrow. After you’ve used your vocabulary up on somebody else.”

“I really like to use it on you though,” Stiles grins, too sharp.

“Yeah? Well,” Scott hums, pushing away from the Jeep and Stiles’ grasping hands, “ _I_ really like _stripes_.”

 

“I am so kicking your little werewolf ass and there’s nothing you can do about it,” Stiles crows, thumbs blazing over the controller. Scott throws out an elbow, catching him off guard and digging into his ribs. “Ahhhh, watch it asshole, that’s cheating!”

“All’s fair in Smash Bros and war,” Scott snaps back, pressing the buttons with a little too much strength. The controller creaks in his hands and he pulls back, just as Jigglypuff does a combo that sends Captain Falcon flying offscreen.

“Dude, no way,” Stiles gapes at the TV, one hand lifted like he’s questioning the ref. “There’s no way you beat me that round, what the fuck man!”

“According to the scoreboard, I totally did,” Scott grins, smug. Stiles’ face goes red and Scott barely has time to react before the gangly collection of limbs he calls _love_ is launching himself toward Scott, barreling them both over the arm of the sofa.

“Hey, HEY! STILES!” Scott squeaks and laughs at the same time as Stiles’ fingers dig painfully into his sides, tickling hard and fast. “Stop stop stop, gonna - can’t - arghhhh.”

“That’s right, take it, you cheating cheater,” Stiles grumbles, tongue caught between his teeth as his fingertips dig in. “You just take it because you’re terrible.”

Scott grabs Stiles by the wrists, wraps his legs around Stiles’ thighs, trapping them both in an awkward hug on the floor.

“Terrible people just need to take it, huh, Stiles?” He raises his eyebrows, lets his mouth draw up in a grin.

“Maybe,” Stiles hedges, wriggling in the clasp of Scott’s thighs.

“S’that why you’ve been such an asshole the last few days?” Scott rubs his nose against Stiles’, gentle, easy. He moves in like he’ll take a kiss off that harsh mouth right here in the living room floor, pauses a whisper away from Stiles’ skin. “You know if you want something from me, you just have to ask for it.”

“Maybe I want _something_ , but not… _that_ ,” Stiles grunts, pushing forward to catch Scott’s mouth. The kiss is rough, tastes of salt and caramel and Burt’s Bees. Scott melts into it, letting his body go soft around Stiles’, letting Stiles push him to his back. “Would that, uh… be okay?”

“You know it is, babe,” Scott smiles, easy, bringing Stiles down to his mouth. Their kisses turn soft, languid, long and aching. “Whatever you need.”

“Even if I’m sort of asking for something else?” Stiles half-laughs, hips rolling. Bright color splotches high on his cheeks as he slides a hand under Scott’s shirt, scratching blunt nails against the hard plane of Scott’s stomach.

“Even if,” Scott assures him, arms clinging to Stiles’ shoulders, back arching slightly off the floor. “I’m terrible at telling you no.”

“It’s nice that I can always count on that,” Stiles grins against his lips.

When they make love, pressed together from mouth to thigh on the couch, rutting against one another in soft, lazy thrusts, Scott lets him lead, lets Stiles push and pull and set the pace. It’s comforting, familiar, the way they usually do things -  Scott’s hands pinned at the wrist over his head, soft bruises from Stiles’ mouth fading too fast into the rest of his skin. He writhes and aches, his cock dragging against Stiles’ stomach, a filthy tease until Stiles takes him in hand.

He is not unaware that even after the orgasm, Stiles’ shoulders are rucked up a little higher than they should be, his spine drawn a little tighter in than it has a right to be after all the noise he just made.

“Whatever you need,” Scott reminds him on his way out, kissing the tip of his nose, his forehead, both his cheeks, his chin. Stiles laughs, pushes him away a bit too hard, a bit too fast.

“Whatever, you big dork.”

That’s okay. Scott knows how to wait.

 

It takes another five days for Stiles to come to him, hands shaking and shoulder blades drawn sharp.

“Scotty, I just… I need… something. Anything. Just… help me out, okay?” He’s flushed and nervous, biting at his own mouth and running his hands through his hair, rucking it up like he’s been fucking. Like someone’s been fucking him.

“Stiles, you know if you need anything from me, you just have to ask,” Scott says, sitting deceptively loose-limbed on the bed. He tilts his chin, beckoning Stiles in. “Anything at all.”

“I’m asking then,” Stiles huffs, hand on his forehead. “I’m asking okay? I need it.”

“What do you need?” The words come easy now, easier every time he says them, easier every time his mouth wets at the promise of this. Stiles whines at him, one toe kicking idly at the floor.

“You already know, you guessed it last week,” he grumbles, and Scott does his best not to laugh at the pure misery on his face. “Asshole.”

“If you can’t even say it, then you don’t need it. Go home. Or we’ll go to a movie or something. Don’t come to me like this and -”

“I need you to make me submit, Scott,” Stiles rushes out, face brilliant red. Arousal spikes in the air, the scent pleasing and heady, and Scott nods.

“I could do that.”

Stiles quirks his head sideways, mouth slack.

“Well don’t get too excited about it or anything,” he snaps, shifting on his heels like he’s going to turn around, walk back out the door.

“Come here,” Scott asks, and it’s not a question. Stiles is in front of him in seconds, jaw clenched and shoulders tight, knees half-bent. Scott nods, watching with dark-hot eyes as Stiles sinks down onto his shins, his knees and toes digging into the carpet just like he’s been taught. “You took your time about it.”

“You could have ended that at any time,” Stiles growls. “Thanks, by the way, for that.” Scott grips him gently by the chin, fingers working at the hinge of his jaw to loosen it up. He always aches for this part, the caretaking, pulling Stiles down into that place he needs so well. It feels like _love_.

“You know you can have it any time you ask for it,” is all he says. Stiles rolls his eyes, whines high in his throat as Scott squeezes gently around his neck, not choking, just pressing. A reminder.

“If you know I need it why do I have to ask?”

“Because I said so. Because those are the rules,” Scott hums, amiable. He lets his voice drop, deep and husky, “Because if I gave it to you every time I thought you needed it, you’d never be off your knees.”

Stiles shudders. He’s already falling, body responding to Scott’s control so quickly. His eyes are dark with it, honey whiskey devoured by the blankness of dilating pupils. He looks dazed. They haven’t even started yet, but Stiles sinks like a stone when he’s really ready for it.

That’s how Scott likes him. Well, it’s one of the ways.

It takes time, stripping Stiles out of his defenses like a series of increasingly terrible graphic tees. It takes patience, which Scott has in spades where Stiles is concerned, and willingness to be still, which is harder for both of them. Still, when Stiles comes to him like this it is a reward well worth his efforts.

“Why do you even come to me with clothes on?” Scott asks, and tips Stiles’ face up for a kiss. It is short, perfunctory, just a reminder that under the struggle there is this, them.

“Because I like it when you tell me to take ‘em off.” The words are muffled, but it doesn’t matter. Scott’s ears are especially attuned to this, understanding Stiles through a mouthful of curly fries or a ball gag or his own fingers.

“Take them off, then.”

Scott leans back on his elbows, resting easily on the bed, relaxed. Stiles strips efficiently. There’s no grace to it, no artifice there like there had been the first few times they did this. When Stiles tries to impress it’s always a disaster, too slick and easy to have anything of the boy he loves in it. Scott prefers him like this, struggling to pull his corduroys off his ankles, boxer briefs clinging to his hip bones, plaid shirt in a heap at his feet. The layers come off much more quickly when they’re physical, rather than emotional.

“What do you want from me today?” Scott asks, drawing spirals on his comforter with his index finger. He has ideas. He always has ideas, ways to make Stiles sweat and ache, things to make him keen and cry out. Sometimes it’s as easy as turning that long, lanky form over his lap, smacking his bare hand over pale skin until it rises up pink and purple and Stiles is coming between his thighs. Other times he uses Stiles’ mouth, fills it up until Stiles can’t speak, can’t breathe. Holds it full and pinches his pert nose until tears stream out of those big eyes and every bit of Stiles’ focus is on him, just him. Occasionally he uses just his hand, edges Stiles for hours, until they’re both panting from it, squirming and whining, so close to the edge that the barest lick sends Stiles over, leaves him sobbing and shaking through his orgasm.

He has a feeling that today might be a bit different, though. The edge to all Stiles’ movements, the way he hedged for days, makes today feel different.

“Whatever you want,” Stiles says automatically, sinking back down to his knees. His cock is already getting hard, nipples puffed up and pink in the cool air of Scott’s room. He traces lines in the carpet alongside his thighs, butt resting on his ankles in a way Scott knows he can’t maintain, but tries sometimes because it helps him feel smaller, more compact. Like maybe he needs to feel coddled a bit.

“You’ve stayed away this week,” Scott tells him, reaching out with one bare foot to trace up Stiles’ thigh. “Didn’t come over after practice Tuesday. We normally have dinner together during my mom’s Thursday night shift, but you cancelled.”

“I had an exam,” Stiles mumbles, but his heart picks up like he’s lying.

“Dude. I had the same exam,” Scott reminds him. “Talk to me. Why’d you stay away?”

Stiles sits for a long time, like maybe he’s going to refuse to answer the question. They’ve played that game before too, where Scott asks for too much - or more often, Stiles wants more than Scott’s ready to give him - and Stiles gets dressed and leaves as if nothing ever happened. It always takes a few days to catch back the easy way they are together when they aren’t this. This is anything but easy. Worth it, sure, but not easy.

“I want something,” Stiles says, and his face instantly flushes hot red and purple, like it pains him to have said that.

“You know you only -”

“Have to ask, yeah, I know,” he interrupts, glaring. “Thing is, I’m like, 99% sure you’re not going to give it to me, so asking is kind of a moot point.”

Scott sits up straight, brow furrowed. “What could you possibly want that I wouldn’t give you?”

“You sure you wanna know?” Stiles challenges him, daily, sometimes hourly, but especially at times like these. Scott likes to think he can rise to the challenge.

“Anything you want, I want to know about.”

“Fine.” Stiles rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck. Stalling. “I want.”

He stalls out, huffs, and tries again.  
            “I want your -”

His face is brilliant, shining with his shame and arousal, and the flood of hormones wafting off of him is enough to make Scott’s head spin. His cock is hard in his shorts, and he’s inches away from just letting it slide, doing the scene without Stiles’ input. The thought makes his stomach ache a little, though, in a bad way.

“What do you want, Stiles?” he asks, one more time.

“Your knot. I want you to knot me.”

It’s a bit like falling into a black hole, this feeling.

“My. My kno - Stiles, how do you even - I’ve never -” he stutters, losing his cool pretty visibly. His face heats up, and there’s a catch in his throat, and instantly Stiles is shuffling forward, draping his torso over Scott’s lap and hugging around his waist.

“I know, I’m sorry, you’d never - but I saw it. Last time we did this, I saw it. And now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Scott covers his face with one hand, but the other finds Stiles’ hair almost automatically. He threads his fingers through it, comforting himself and Stiles at the same time with the soft brush of clean strands against his palms.

“You saw it?” He asks, eyes closed tight. He - he does his best to hide it, the knot. It doesn’t always happen, and he usually keeps it under control when he’s with a partner, even if he’s gotten comfortable with it on his own. He thinks back to their last scene though, and it all falls into place: he’d taken his boxers off early on, but then Stiles had acted out, needed a spanking. The feeling of him wriggling and squirming over Scott’s lap was too much to take, and he’d popped a knot just from rutting his cock against Stiles’ stomach. It was so intense, felt so good -

He hadn’t even noticed that Stiles had been watching.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me,” Stiles says, nuzzling against his hand.

“Oh, I dunno,” Scott tries to keep his voice from sounding too bitter. “Maybe because it’s just one more freakish gift from the bite. It’s not one I have to expose other people to, though, so I just keep it to myself.”

Stiles pulls Scott’s hand away from his face. It’s a bit of a shock. For all of Stiles’ reluctance and stalling, it’s rare for him to reach out during a scene - to be the one saying, _Look at me_. The strangeness of it tricks Scott into meeting his eyes, and there’s no revulsion there - just unabashed lust. All of Stiles’ shame has been wiped away, replaced with desperation.

“It’s so hot, Scotty - I - I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Every time I jerk off I think about you being inside me, tying us together. I’ve been practicing, I can take it, I know I can - and I want to. Fuck, Scott, please let me - I’ll make it good for you, I promise, it’ll feel so good -”

Scott stops him with two fingers pressed to Stiles’ lips, and then between them. His wide mouth narrows to suck without a thought, pulling Scott’s fingers in to the knuckle. It’s better that way, not only because Stiles looks beautiful with something between his lips, but also because it keeps him _quiet_. The wheels are spinning in Scott’s head - whatever else is happening tonight, Stiles isn’t lying about wanting the knot. It does feel good - _amazing_ \- when he lets himself go enough to allow the knot to form, just under the skin, blood-hot and bulging at the base of his cock. He never considered sharing that part of him with anyone before, never imagined anyone wanting it, but Stiles -

Stiles exceeds his imagination most of the time anyway.

“We can try it,” Scott says slowly, dragging his fingerpads over Stiles’ tongue. “But not right away. You have to show me you can take it - I’m not going to hurt you with it. If it hurts you, I’ll know, and I’ll safeword. Do you understand me?” He pulls his fingers free so Stiles can answer.

“Yes - yes sir,” Stiles says, eager. “I can take it, trust me, it isn’t going to hurt -”

“Oh, I know it isn’t,” Scott interrupts, sliding his fingers back into Stiles’ mouth. “Because if we do this, you’re going to have to show me you can take it before I’m ever inside you.”

Stiles’ eyebrows quirk. His mouth purses around Scott’s fingers, like his whole face is asking a question but he doesn’t want to give up the taste of Scott’s skin to verbalize it. Scott tugs his fingers away, ignoring Stiles’ little whine.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Stiles asks, and then opens his mouth automatically for his prize. Scott doesn’t roll his eyes; that would be cruel when Stiles is in this state. He does have to duck his head to hide a little laugh, though, as he repositions his fingers.

“If you want my knot, you’re going to have to work for it. Show me you can take it, that you’ve been working hard to earn it. You’ll have to be very good, and very patient. It’ll be a good test.” Scott smiles, and runs his free hand down the side of Stiles’ cheek in a soft caress. “If you’re very good and do everything I ask, and I can be sure you won’t get hurt - I’ll give you what you want.”

Stiles nods, too eager, almost chokes himself on Scott’s hand. Scott can’t help but smile, and nods him toward the toy box stored away in Scott’s closet. “Go on, get it out - if you’re going to show me we’ll need a little assistance.”

The toy box is Scott’s favorite secret, a little plastic case full of things he bought the instant he turned eighteen. He already has just the thing in mind when Stiles brings the box to him, and it doesn’t take long to find - a long, sleek dildo made of shiny purple silicone. It’s one of his favorites, not so large that it’s difficult to take but filling enough to satisfy him when he just wants to be full of something. Tonight it’s not for him, though.

“On your hands and knees?” Scott asks instead of orders, giving Stiles wiggle room. Wiggle, he does, as he crawls into position on the floor at Scott’s feet, ass in the air and cheek to the carpet. Stiles looks up at him with a grin, a little cheeky, and shakes his hips back and forth to tease.

“You mean like this?”

Scott laughs, slapping his ass with a gentle hand. “Yes, like that, you show off.”

Scott drizzles lube generously over Stiles’ ass, until the curves of it are shiny and slick, halfway across both cheeks and dripping down his crack. Scott rubs the toy gently over his hole, spreading the lube and warming the silicone at the same time, watching as Stiles arches into the friction over and over. It’s tempting to just stay like this, play like this until Stiles gives in and comes all over the floor, promising they’ll try again another day. Stiles wouldn’t hold it against him, it would give Stiles what he needs without the risk -

But Scott doesn’t really want that. The knot isn’t something he ever thought he’d share with anyone else, but knowing Stiles wants that part of him, the part that Scott’s kept hidden, makes Scott want it too. He wants the feel of a body tight and warm around his flesh as it expands. He wants to thrust until he’s caught, until neither of them have control and there is nothing but the white bliss of pleasure to be shared. He wants to know that Stiles has had everything he is and loves it all - loves all of him, not just the parts Scott can pretend are normal, are somehow untouched by the bite.

“Here,” he says quietly, guiding Stiles’ hand to the toy and wrapping those long fingers around the base. “Show me.”

He watches as Stiles’ back arches up further, presenting his ass like a gift, and the head of the toy presses against his hole, slick with lube and soft from where Stiles stretched himself before he came over. Stiles grunts softly when it slips in, holds it still while he adjusts.

“That’s it,” Scott encourages, rubbing one hand over Stiles’ hip. “That’s good, you’re good Stiles - take your time.”

The dildo disappears half-inch at a time, rocking carefully into Stiles’ body. Scott rubs his flank as Stiles eases it in, encouraging him the whole way, until the flared base rests against Stiles’ skin. For a moment, everything stops as Stiles adjusts, breath coming quick and hands shaking a little. Then he’s an explosion of motion, pulling the toy all the way out and forcing it back in, hard enough that the silicone makes a smacking sound against his skin.

“Whoa, hey, wait -” Scott grabs Stiles’ hand and squeezes it gently. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you I can take it,” Stiles says, face red. He can’t tell if it’s from being on the ground or from Scott stopping him or both, but he doesn’t like it. His free hand goes to Stiles’ hip, rubbing over the lube-slick skin of his ass with one thumb.

“This isn’t what I want,” Scott says. “I want to see that you’re enjoying yourself, that you _like_ taking it and you feel good - you know I don’t like it when you’re hurting.”

“I know,” Stiles says, slumping down. He sort of lists to the side until his knees naturally turn, leaving him curled on the floor at Scott’s feet. His shoulders tense and relax, and his heart beats fast but it slows as Scott rubs his side, leaned over awkwardly to touch him. “M’sorry - was trying to hurry through this one.”

“Because it’s smaller?” Scott asks softly, fingertips brushing Stiles’ hipbone lovingly.

“Impatient.”

“No, really?” Scott smiles, placing Stiles’ hand back on the base of the toy. “Show me how you’d want it if you knew we were doing this all day, just you and this toy and me watching.”

Stiles’ hand goes slower this time, pulling the toy halfway out before pressing it back in, only picking up speed once it feels natural to do so, his body pulling the toy inside. He pants and moans, little messy sounds out of the sides of his mouth where his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, until words form from them.

“Please, please, Scotty, I -” Stiles begs, eyes squeezed close. “Scott I need - please let me -” He stops, flustered, not sure what he’s asking for or what he needs when the temptation to get off is so strong. Scott could let him, offer him that release now, but instead he takes hold of the dildo and pulls it out, tossing it into the dirty clothes hamper to be washed later.

“Come here,” he says, and instantly he has an armful of naked Stiles, shivery and sweating, dripping precome and lube. “Yeah, you did good - that was great baby. Come up here on the bed with me, up you go.”

“Not a baby,” Stiles protests, but up he goes anyway, crawling onto the mattress and collapsing with his head on Scott’s thigh.

“ _My_ baby,” Scott teases, an old argument that no one wins but no one ever loses either. “You did great. Catch your breath - when you’re ready we’ll get out the next one.”

“Which one is it?” Stiles asks, curiosity perking him up just a bit.

Scott hunts through the toy box for just the right thing until he finds it - a line of eight silicone beads ranging from the small end of average to an inch and a half in diameter, all stacked on top of one another rather than threaded on string. The large end is topped off with a nice big pull ring, perfect for their purposes. As soon as Stiles sees it, his mouth drops open and his hands flex.

“Please?” he asks, legs spreading in invitation. Scott drags the beads teasingly along the crease of Stiles’ ass, the silicone gliding over the excess lube. Stiles arches for it as best he can with his head on Scott’s thigh and his body on his side. “Please Scott, I want it -”

“It’s okay,” Scott soothes, pressing the beads into Stiles’ hand and dripping lube over them. He helps Stiles slick them up and get them positioned, watching eagerly as the first one slides in without any hesitation. Stiles’ face goes still, concentrating as the second slips past the clench of his muscles, a little more difficult than the first.

“You’re doing great,” Scott says. He tangles his free hand in Stiles’ hair, scratching gently at his scalp to keep Stiles relaxed. “You’re a quarter of the way there.”

“I just - ah -” the third bead slides in, and Stiles pants in relief, “I just had two.”

“And now you have three,” Scott says, voice warm. He strokes clean fingers softly down the side of Stiles’ face, smoothing out the tension around his eyes with gentle touches. “Almost halfway. You can do it baby - let me see.”

Stiles groans as the fourth bead slips in, his dick twitching helplessly against his thigh, dripping precome on Scott’s sheets. His bed will smell like Stiles for days. He’ll fuck his hips down into his hands, nose buried in the bedding when he wakes up, remembering how Stiles looks right at this moment, breathing deep and heavy as he presses the fifth bead against the tight clench of his ass.

Scott rubs his lower back, massaging the muscles there to keep them loose and easy as the fifth bead goes in, and Stiles rolls over for a moment onto his stomach. He ruts against the mattress a few times, just to take the edge off - he knows he can’t come, not without Scott’s permission, and not without sacrificing his reward, but the stimulation is apparently all he needs because within seconds he’s on his side again.

“Just - had to, uh…” he trails off, mouth hanging open as he adjusts to the feeling of the beads inside him. Scott smiles.

“Yeah, I bet - it’s a lot. They’re not so big separately, but all together, that’s a lot.” Scott’s taken them himself a few times, but only by himself, and always as a main event - never in preparation for something even bigger.

Stiles resettles on his side, legs open, and grips the sixth bead with his slick hand. He pushes and grunts, but nothing happens, body locked tight against the intrusion. He doesn’t try to force it like he did before - instead he works the fifth bead out just a little, softening the muscles around his hole before pressing in again. He gets closer, but the toy stays firmly where it was before.

“Maybe more lube?” Scott suggests, holding the bottle up. Stiles shrugs - he’s breathing too hard to worry about talking. Scott drizzles more lube all over the toy, Stiles’ body, his hands - it gets all over the sheets, but Scott doesn’t worry about it, too focused on the toy and Stiles’ body.

Stiles pushes in again, more directly this time. It takes some struggle, and Scott has to grip Stiles’ hair near the root and pull just slightly, just enough to split his focus so that his body will open up, but they’re rewarded when beads six and seven both slide in at once, barely a pause between them.

Stiles gasps, limbs shaking and eyes wide as he looks up at Scott, looking for what to do. Scott smiles, big and bright, and nods as quickly as he can without making either of them dizzy.

“Yes, yeah - fuck that’s hot Stiles, you did good baby, you did so good,” he says, and reaches down to stroke the inside of Stiles’ thigh, giving him a nice touch to focus on while he absorbs the shock. “Just one more and then you’re done - you’re doing so well, I’m so proud -”

Stiles blinks, obviously dazed, and his voice cracks a little when he says, “Why - why’re you _proud_?”

“Because you’re being careful,” Scott says, voice full of affection. “You’re doing what I asked you to do, showing me that you can be patient and that you aren’t going to hurt yourself. You’re working hard to make sure I won’t hurt you. I’m proud of you.”

Stiles doesn’t speak, just turns his head to press a kiss to Scott’s thigh, then another. He breathes deeply, in and out through his nose, body covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

“Almost there,” Scott says softly, eyes glued to the largest bead, shiny with lube. It looks much too big to fit inside, with all the rest of the beads in there - but that’s the point, to push Stiles’ body until he’s sure, until he knows the knot won’t hurt. “Just one more.”

“I can do it,” Stiles says, and Scott’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or Scott or the toy, at this point, but it doesn’t seem to matter - with a deep breath in and out, and one steady push, the final bead slides into Stiles’ ass, leaving him clutching frantically at Scott. Scott carefully pulls Stiles over his lap, one hand over his hole to keep him full while Scott rewards him with kisses peppered over his cheeks, his forehead, and the bridge of his nose.

“I - I did it,” Stiles says, obviously a little dazed. His forehead falls to Scott’s shoulder while Stiles struggles to catch his breath. Scott’s arms go around him instantly, pulling Stiles closer, helping him settle, sprawled over Scott’s lap.

“You did do it,” Scott agrees, running one hand down Stiles’ spine, caressing the notches of it with soft fingers - a sweet contrast to the strain of having his ass full of the beads. Scott’s careful as he takes the ring in his other hand and tugs, just a little. “It’s time to let them go, baby. Need to get these out of you, okay? Just relax for me.”

Stiles slumps against Scott, his whole weight on Scott’s shoulder or his lap, as the beads come out one by one. He moans, soft and low, and Scott can’t tell if it’s relief or loss that makes him sound that way. Either way, Scott presses kisses to Stiles’ shoulder and rubs careful fingers over his hole, checking to be sure he’s okay before they press on.

“How do you feel?” Scott asks, voice just louder than a whisper. Stiles nuzzles into his neck, presses a kiss to Scott’s shoulder.

“Empty.”

The word is so simple, but it drives Scott crazy, pulling his focus to the way his cock aches in his jeans, the way Stiles is positioned over him, open and ready, the way Stiles’ mouth is bitten red and his breath is hot on Scott’s neck - Scott kisses him, sliding three fingers easily into Stiles’ hole to keep him open. Stiles doesn’t fight him. There’s none of his earlier resistance left, just sweet surrender in Scott’s arms as Stiles clenches around his fingers and whimpers against his mouth.

“You want to be full, huh?” Scott asks, carefully pulling his fingers free. He holds tight to Stiles as he lays down, twisting until they’re on their sides, heads on Scott’s pillow. Stiles nods, face soft and slack.

“Of you,” he says, though they both know there’s one more test to go. Scott shushes him gently and reaches for the toy box, pulling out a thick, soft silicone dick - the thickest toy they have. Stiles’ eyes widen when he sees it, but he doesn’t seem nervous, just _ready_.

“On your back,” Scott says, and Stiles is there in an instant, his head on the pillow and legs sprawled out, one bent up at the knee and the other resting over Scott’s lap.

Stiles’ ass is wet, hole puffy and red, but his eyes are clear when he says, “C’mon, I want it.”

Scott slicks the toy as quickly as he can, and lube drips over their fingers as he hands it over to Stiles. The head slides in without too much effort, spreading Stiles’ ass beautifully, but about a third of the way in it stalls. Stiles’ chest heaves with the effort of pushing it in, body ratcheting tighter in his anxiety to make it work so he can reach his prize.

“It’s okay, just relax,” Scott tries, but it doesn’t soothe him at all. As a matter of fact, Scott’s voice just seems to make Stiles clench tighter, wincing as the muscles in his legs and ass spasm uselessly.

“Can you -” Stiles asks, eyes wide and a little glassy. His face is red and tears gather along his lashline, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Please, Scott, can you - can you do it?”

Scott’s hand covers Stiles’ on the toy immediately, their fingers slotting together around the silicone shaft. Just that touch seems to relax Stiles immensely, breathing slowing to something smoother and more regular, less worrying.

“Does it hurt?” Scott asks quietly, keeping the light pressure on Stiles’ hand with his own, his other hand at Stiles’ thigh.

“No,” Stiles says instantly. “It’s just - I need help. Need you.”

The words fill Scott with warmth, leave him floating happily. He doesn’t play this part very often, but every time he does, this is what leaves him contented - Stiles _needing_ him, and telling him so. Scott crawls up next to him, body curving around Stiles’ in comfort.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he says quietly, hand squeezing Stiles’ around the toy. “Deep breath for me. You can do this, I know you can.”

Together they work the toy into Stiles’ body until they reach the flared base. It’s slow going, pausing every half inch or so for Stiles to adjust. Every inch Scott rewards him with a kiss, to Stiles’ shoulder or his neck or his temple, wherever Scott can reach. When it’s finally in, they both breathe a sigh of relief.

“It’s - it’s in now -” Stiles says, voice rough. “Please, I want you -”

“I think we need to be able to thrust it,” Scott says, watching his face. The effect is immediate - Stiles’ eyes fill with tears, and his hands come up to clutch at Scott, at whatever he can reach.

“No no no, I did it, I did what you wanted, please -”

“Stiles, I’m just worried -”

“Scott _please_ ,” Stiles begs. He’s shaking, so overwhelmed he can barely breathe, and the first tear slips down his cheek. Scott acts instantly, pulling the toy carefully free of Stiles’ ass and then covering Stiles’ body with his own. He holds Stiles tight to him, careful not to crush him but giving him enough of Scott’s weight to ground him, help him feel secure again.

“I did it, you said if I did it -” Stiles says, sniffling a little and blinking back the rest of those tears.

“Yeah, you did,” Scott agrees. “You did what I asked. You were good for me.” He dips down to give Stiles a kiss, the sweetest, purest kiss he can manage with Stiles aching and open underneath him. Underneath him, Stiles’ body goes warm and still, flushed slightly from pleasure and nerves both, probably, but only the pleasure shows on his face when Scott pulls back. “Are you ready Stiles?”

“Yes, please,” he breathes, his body relaxed under Scott. It takes no effort at all to push Stiles over on his side, and within a minute Scott is stripped and ready, his chest pressed tightly to Stiles’ back. He eases inside of Stiles with gentle motions, hyperaware of how sore Stiles probably is, but he’s so stretched that it barely matters. Scott moves in long, languid thrusts, his hips driving them both forward. Stiles doesn’t resist, his body absorbing all of Scott’s motion, all of his effort, taking in everything Scott gives him and then crying for more.

“Please, please, please,” he begs with every thrust. Scott’s hand finds Stiles’ dick, wraps around it and strokes in counterpoint to his thrusts. He kisses the back of Stiles’ neck, trying to distract himself from the hot, wet feeling surrounding his cock. It’s no good though - watching Stiles take those toys was almost more foreplay than either of them could take, and within minutes he can feel the tell-tale flutter in his gut that tells him it’s coming.

“Are you ready?” he breathes against Stiles’ ear, his own voice gone to gravel. “I’m - I’m so close Stiles - you’re so good for me baby, I’m so close -”

“C’mon, c’mon,” Stiles urges, pressing his ass back into Scott’s rolling thrusts, faster now. “Knot me, Scott. Wanna feel it, c’mon -”

Letting go is far easier than he ever considered it being. Waves of pleasure crash over him as the knot begins to swell, a hot stretch at the base of his cock that starts slow but fills quick, blood rushing from his head leaving him dizzy and panting. He keeps thrusting until he can’t, until he pulls and nothing happens except for Stiles’ gutted moan, the tight clench of his ass around the knot as Stiles comes. It’s like floating, or falling, the rush of the ground up to meet him as he falls over the edge, heart in his throat. He squeezes his eyes closed, forehead pressed to the nape of Stiles’ neck, sticky with dewed sweat. His chest is tight - he can’t breathe - it’s too much -

And then, with a sudden burst of pleasure that paints stars on the backs of his eyelids, Scott’s coming too, filling Stiles’ body with himself in a way he’s never done before, holding tight to his lover like a life raft, too shaken and weak to let go. For long minutes they just lay there together, panting and shivering through the aftermath, until finally Stiles speaks.

“So when do you think you can do that again?”

It doesn’t happen all that often, but when it does, it always starts the same way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback is valuable to all fic writers, and I'm no exception. If you enjoyed this story, please let me know.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://quicklikelight.tumblr.com).


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